


Extracting Concessions

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: The OA (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Desk Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Bondage, Redemption, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: It all starts innocently enough, with Hap inspired to give Prairie a little treat one day.  Yet as time goes by and they keep giving into each other in all sorts of small ways, can Hap and Prairie actually end up on common ground?





	1. Concession 1: Pretzels

“And your favorite food?” Hap inquires almost absent-mindedly, the random nature of the control questions making him eager to get through them and onto more pertinent matters.

“Pretzels,” Prairie replies automatically. She wishes her stomach didn’t lurch and grumble, though thankfully it does so quietly. Memories of the soft pretzels at the mall back home seize her already painful sense of hunger until she’s annoyed and baffled that Hap had the nerve to include this frankly offensive question. As if everything else he’s done to them isn’t bad enough, he has to twist the knife.

Maybe that’s what she gets for running away. Fuck him, she’d do it again in a heartbeat. Only now she knows that the prisoners need to find an inward escape, and this will take time. 

Her last N.D.E. has bolstered her confidence somehow, almost without her realizing it. She isn’t afraid of Hap anymore. No, that’s not it; she isn’t afraid of _him._ Prairie can summon all of the bold-faced sass she thinks he’ll let her get away with and take satisfaction from it, too. How dare he do a slight double-take at her admission of loving salty, pretzel-y goodness, as if he finds her unbearably cute? Honestly, how fucking _dare_ he? 

Thank God he has no idea what he’s doing to her.

Prairie isn’t afraid of Hap, but what does remain is that she’s afraid of how he makes her feel. Especially since she first saw his face, confirming her instinctual assumption that it was beautiful and that his eyes had the ability to consume and unravel her, this awareness of his true power has _bothered_ her.

The problem is that her innate capacity for seeing beneath the veneers of this world has matched with excruciatingly perfect precision to the man looking back at her, though of course he has no idea she's looking. There he is, fighting his feelings so hard, trying and failing not to adore her. Once she’d sensed the truth in Hap, known that there was a good man in there trying to get out, the one who wanted her, needed her, then she’d been ruined by his insistence on shoving his better side down. The unspoken violence with which he treats his inner self in this refusal to see the light and stop his insane, abusive crusade is maddening. Especially when the glimmers Prairie sees beneath the surface make her breath catch, stirring foolish and infuriating longings.

He wants her to describe her experience in the other dimension, but really, what a crock. Hap has no idea what he’s asking, how mind-blowing and complicated a task it is to put words to the unfathomable. Plus, she’s got to keep the most salient details from him.

“Prairie,” he says firmly, bristling with repressed agitation, “This work is important. I need you to answer me, or I will be forced to do very unkind things to you and to the others. Things that we will both regret.” 

Maintaining the illusion that she can’t see the conflicted misery on his face, Prairie also has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. _Please._ He’s not going to lay a finger on her; he’s afraid to. He terrified himself when he hit her on the head to prevent her escape and almost lost her in the process.

So she goes through the motions, tells Hap a good and believable story, trying to hang the whole emotion of her journey to the Otherside on the vision she had of her father, the truthfully awful yearning she’d been forced to deny in order to get back here. Before she knows it, the whole interrogation is over and he’s leading her back to her cell, his hand burning into her arm despite the light and almost apologetic touch.

These are the little ways Hap says he’s sorry. But never with words. And that makes Prairie _so mad._ He’s so much better than this. They could have had so much together and now there’s only the cold, aching abyss of what he’s made of them.

There’s nothing worse than going through the motions when every single one of them stabs you with the untouchable possibilities you’ll never experience. Maybe in some alternate reality, Hap had been utterly sincere that day at the train station. They’d have been collaborators and friends, and who knows what else might have… _shut up,_ Prairie barks to herself. She will not allow herself to have _that_ dream again tonight. It’s the dream that makes it impossible to meet Homer’s eyes in the morning.

But now, as Hap guides her in and locks the door behind her, there’s a shock of hatred transferred from his blazing blue gaze to Homer’s resentful green one. A silent conversation transpires, each man conveying his anger that the other aspires to love Prairie. She just wants them to stop. The focus needs to be on getting out of here, and every energy should be devoted to that.

If only it could be so easy….

*************************************************************************

“Come on,” Hap says a few days later, his deep voice caressing the words as it always did, bossy yet infatuated and nervous. Yes. She sees right through him. “Let’s go.”

Pridefully, Prairie straightens her worn dress and follows him, endeavoring to evade his touch each time he tries to use it to help her ascend the stairs. Interesting. No gas, no wheelchair, but they aren’t heading for the workstation which Hap reserves for interviews. What’s this about?

Every chance she has to get upstairs is a shot at escape, but the problem is that she's blown her cover on that intention, and he will never let his guard down for her like that again. Or so she assumes.

“So,” Hap says brightly, in that voice that reminds her of who he could be. She loves it, she hates it. “I got you something.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Prairie says stiffly, but when he leads her to the kitchen table, she sinks into the chair anyway. It’s a thin line, showing her open defiance without angering him. The taste of his anger is its own guilty pleasure, but the consequences could be dire.

“I know that. I wanted to say again that I deeply regret that my methods make things so hard for you, and for the others.” Hap sits across from her, his hands momentarily hovering over her own where they lay folded primly, but he knows better and shrinks back again. She can just feel the warm tremble of his fingers as they pull back, drops of water over her parched lips, tempting and impossible.

“Okay. That changes nothing. It’s also pretty damn reductive, you know. ‘Making things hard for us?’ You stole our _lives,_ Hap.” Prairie presses her lips together, but her rage won’t stay in. It smolders and makes her squeeze her hands until they hurt.

“Don’t…” Hap’s reach is back and this time he makes light, grazing contact. “Stop it. You’re hurting yourself.”

“Right, sorry. I almost forgot, that’s your job.” Prairie’s eyes fill with tears but pride makes her squeeze her eyes shut, unwilling to let them fall. She releases her fingers from her palms and presses them onto her legs. Okay. Now her eyes are wet but her cheeks stay dry. She can face him. 

Hap’s heartbroken expression cuts her to the quick. She can’t react; she has to maintain the glazed, slightly off-center way that a blind person casts their eyes. But it’s damn hard because Prairie’s heart is breaking, too.

“Look, I.” Hap sighs heavily, trying to gather himself against the weight of his guilt and forbidden wistfulness. “I ordered you something special. It doesn’t make up for anything, but just do me a favor and take it anyway, alright?” He walks over to the counter and opens up a cardboard box from Amazon, his hands moving methodically, already knowing this is a doomed peace offering.

She can smell the salty-sweet aroma before he gets halfway back over, and automatically shakes her head. He’s got some fucking nerve. “Pretzels,” Prairie says mechanically.

“You know what,” Hap corrects himself, “I’m going to heat this up for you. It’s so much better that way. Oh, and mustard — do you like sweet or spicy?”

“I’m not eating that.” Prairie shakes her head, denying herself from sinking into that savory, delightful aroma, memories drifting back from her childhood and teen years. The pretzel would taste like fun and hope. _Oh._ Her head drops dejectedly. It's a new kind of awful, saying no to this.

“Ah, you see, I knew you’d say that, but I thought of a way to make it alright,” Hap pipes up almost excitedly, the boyish, kind of naive tone of his voice squeezing Prairie’s heart — as if her heart isn’t already bruised beyond recognition. _Those stupid glasses._ He looks like an adorable, unspeakably sexy nerd. It’s horrifically unfair.

She drums her fingers on the tabletop, as if to say sarcastically, _Do tell._ That’s incentive enough, of course.

__“So,” he explains, pushing his dumb, fucking adorable-hot-sexy glasses back up the bridge of his nose, running nervous fingers through his lovely, soft brown hair, “I went ahead and ordered _everyone’s_ favorite foods, and if you’ll just please eat that pretzel and enjoy something for once, I promise to bring it all downstairs. So everyone gets a treat. How’s that?”_ _

__The microwave beeps. Prairie can’t stare Hap down. She relies on holding herself up regally instead. “You even got Homer’s favorite?” Anger and jealousy flash in Hap’s eyes, but he’s strong enough to internalize the gut-punch._ _

__“I did,” he mutters, finally averting his eyes. She immediately misses his gaze._ _

__“Okay, then,” she agrees slowly. “Spicy mustard, please. But can I just take it downstairs and eat it?”_ _

__“I would love to watch you enjoying it. Just because….” Hap’s voice trails helplessly off into the distance somewhere, like he thinks there’s a reason to be conceived where the request doesn’t sound intensely bizarre. “Just, please?”_ _

__Oh, God, fine. _Whatever._ She won’t think about the reasons why he might want to watch her experience this. It doesn’t matter._ _

__There’s an extra spring in Hap’s step as he places the plate in front of her. It’s a mouth-watering, warm, luscious example of junk food finery such as Prairie could simply melt for. She pulls a medium-sized chunk of the pretzel off and dips it in the mustard, trying not to moan when the crunchy exterior, coated in delectable spiciness, hits her tongue. Chewing it means indulging in the soft, fluffy inside, which is actually her favorite part upon closer analysis._ _

__“How is it?” Hap’s fidgeting eagerly in his chair, palms cradling what’s probably his fifth cup of coffee of the day. The smell of hot caffeine wafts across the table, mixing with the regrettably pleasant blend of sandalwood, mint, pine and mountain air that always seems to cling to Hap’s skin. _So delicious,_ Prairie’s mind sings rebelliously. But the thought has nothing to do with the pretzel._ _

__“It’s good,” Prairie gushes, unable to conceal the honest reaction, telling herself it’s just that, and not because she wants to see his pleased reaction. He’s almost bashful now, but it’s past time for him to pull himself back from the precipice and he knows it._ _

__Hap mumbles a throaty “Good,” then walks away from her._ _

__When she’s done, there’s a pregnant pause between them. He’s back at his desk, staring at notes he isn’t seeing. Listening and waiting, attentive to her cues and paranoid about what she may do, given past precedent of letting her have her own space upstairs. Prairie wonders if he wants to come up with some excuse to keep her up there longer, but doesn’t know how to promote the option. Selling the idea that she’d be even remotely trustworthy and wouldn’t immediately begin concocting an escape plan? She can’t muster that level of deceit._ _

__Hap gathers up the rest of the food, having heated each item that requires it, and stacks the containers in a large brown paper bag. “Come on,” he beckons, opening the basement door._ _

__“Let’s go,” Prairie says, point blank in unison with him, making his eyes widen sharply. He swallows, then places his other hand at her shoulder as they descend. Wisely, he chooses to have Prairie go down first. _Live and learn,_ she quips inwardly, but there’s no edge to the thought._ _

__Rachel, Scott and Homer try to hide the way they’re practically drooling as Prairie helps Hap to distribute the food among them. When she gets to Homer, she doesn’t brush his fingers when she hands him the plastic-wrapped burger and fries. And she’s in no mood for the look he’s shooting her either, all sympathetic and concerned, as he glares ungratefully at Hap._ _

__That sweet, innocent crush between herself and Homer is ultimately so disappointingly insubstantial. When she’s in Hap’s presence, the feelings she wants to reciprocate towards Homer melt away like cheap chocolate under a blinding sun. Sickly sweet and numbingly pointless. It makes her so guilty and confused._ _

__Hap opens the door to Prairie’s cell, but he doesn’t make a move to lead her in, instead waiting for her. He doesn’t expect a thank you for the day’s concession, and also doesn’t have any smart speeches to make about it this time. No announcements just to let everyone know this won’t be a “regular thing.” No hopes to crush in order to convince himself he doesn’t care, just…a tangible sadness. But really, who is the one demanding or conceding?_ _

__Prairie lingers deliberately in Hap’s orbit, feeling the heat of his firm body almost close enough that she’s leaning back up against him. _Almost._ _ _

__“Why did you do this?” she asks softly, this time allowing a hint of vulnerability to show through, although it doesn’t even scratch the surface of how deeply she feels for him._ _

__Hap dips his head, his lips treacherously near her ear as he sighs and murmurs, “Because you’re my kryptonite, Prairie.”_ _


	2. Concession 2: Christmas

“He’s snapped,” Rachel decides, sitting up on her cot and watching as Hap mounts a large, flatscreen t.v. on the wall. There's a big red bow across the screen, which given his entire lack of preamble before going about this procedure just made it even weirder. “He’s finally gone insane.”

“Fuck, Rachel, he’s always been insane or else he wouldn’t kidnap people and force them to live in his basement,” Scott retorts. “Anyway, shut up. I want a t.v.”

Hap turns around and removes a nail from between his lips before stating drily, “You know, that’s not soundproof glass. So, have any of you been keeping track of the days?”

“It’s more sort of a big meaningless blob of numbing boredom mixed with a skull-crushing depression,” Scott explains, “You know, since you asked.”

“It’s Christmas,” Prairie announces quietly with her back to Hap. She stares down at her sad, broken excuse for shoes and wraps her arms more tightly around her knees.

“Yes, so it is. And that’s not all I’ve got,” Hap tells them, that nervous excitement back in his tone that said this had nothing to do with the others and everything to do with Prairie. He strolls back over to his desk and presses the buttons to open their cell doors, prompting his four unwilling guests to exchange looks that say they are starting to agree with Rachel: Hap has finally gone _all the way_ around the bend.

“Toldja,” She notes pridefully as she and Scott take a few steps out onto the dark, stone-wrought floor. 

“What’s this about?” Homer askes, suspicious and immobile on his own cot. 

“Come on out, you two. I want you all to come upstairs. Rest assured that I’ve reenforced security on all the doors and windows, so you won’t be getting outside tonight. Furthermore, if any one of you tries to attack me, the consequences won’t be taken out on you. I’ll take it out on the others, as ruthlessly as possible.” Hap shrugs, as if this is a perfectly reasonable deal. “So. Come on.” He nods to them to follow and then sprints up the stairs. 

“I guess we should see what he’s up to,” Homer determines, sliding down to the end of the cot and standing uncertainly. “Plus, you never know. One of us _could_ get the drop on him. I mean, what’s he thinking? There’s four of us and he’s got no real protection. We could just…rush him.”

Prairie chortles humorlessly. “Homer, he’s always protected. He’s meticulous, he sees to everything. There’s no way out.”

Scott and Rachel are already upstairs, where faint, nostalgic Christmas music is playing. Prairie has to admit that even for Hap, this was strange. Yet, she also feels other twinges, discomfortingly real.

That she’d missed Christmas.

That, after not seeing him for a couple of weeks, she’d missed Hap.

He is making an effort again, even though it is pointless.

She heaves a long sigh and follows Homer up the stairs, only to be confronted by several card tables covered with hors d’ourves. _No matter what this twisted little party is all about, there’s really nothing to be gained by letting all this go to waste,_ she rationalizes, popping a pig in a blanket in her mouth and chewing slowly, relishing the burst of savory flavor. 

“Well, this is almost just right,” Hap reflects, his hands perched at his hips. He's wearing a white button-down shirt with the collar open, plus plain, snug-fitting black trousers that Prairie has to tear her eyes away from. His effortless conquering of the sexy professor look is back in all its torturous glory.

“Dude, I appreciate the spread here and all, but you need to stop talking. Everything you say just ruins whatever tiny little bit of good you, like, _condescend_ to do.” With that, Scott gulps down an entire plastic cup of red punch, a large sugary ring planted around his mouth that makes his friends laugh. “What?” He demands cluelessly.

“I know you all hate me,” Hap rolls his eyes as if this is not merited, but just a tiresome annoyance with which he is forced to contend. “But here.” He takes a series of gift-wrapped boxes from under the fake Christmas tree by the table and hands one to each captive. “Just go and put these on.”

“We’re not your dolls,” Prairie objects, her mouth full of Cheetos. She doesn’t really give a fuck if she is showing poor table manners and being unladylike. It's one of her last lines of defense against Hap, all told.

“Obviously not, but I’ve come to regret the fact that none of you have had new clothing since you arrived. That ends starting tonight. So everyone, continue despising me with every fiber of your being, but go and find a room to change in, and then come back and I will put Christmas specials on the t.v. in the living room. Okay?” Hap bears the appearance of an already-exhausted dad bracing himself for the unruly behavior of his kids around the holidays.

The only one he excludes from his fatherly attitude is Prairie, whose eyes he is purposefully avoiding. _Well, he’s not staring at me. That’s new._

It's pretty much impossible to say no to these absurd gifts and privileges given the tattered rags that remain of the clothes they’d all been wearing when Hap took them. Muttering hateful expletives under his breath, Homer snatches the lid off his box and storms away, slamming a door behind him. 

As Prairie stands in the bathroom, she has a look in the mirror and makes a face at the smudged-cheeked, empty-eyed girl who stares back. “Don’t mind if I do,” she murmurs, switching the shower on. She whips off the remains of what had once been a blue and white floral maxidress and rolls it up in a ball before sticking it in the small trash can by the toilet where Hap will be sure to see it.

She grabs the shampoo and massages it through her mid-length blonde strands, the blissful sensation of it making her completely not care that the manly-scented soaps on hand all smell like Hap. _I can barely even notice it,_ she tries to convince herself. Prairie wets a washcloth and strokes it over her flesh, noticing the zingy mint fragrance that is all too familiar from pretty much anytime Hap hovers near her shoulder, making her heartbeat pick up speed…

 _Nooo. Shut up, brain._ Prairie has never contemplated how his skin would taste under her tongue, so why start now? As the hot water cascades around her bare body, why would she think about the way Hap’s voice always seemed to fall over her like warm velvet, sublime and intoxicating? That would obviously be ridiculous, if not cause for serious concern that she herself was starting to crack up.

But of course, it isn’t like these types of thoughts are _actually_ new to her.

She finds a small, plastic-handled razor on the side of the tub, one of the cheap sorts with a thin blade exactly sharp enough to shorten human hair but far too small and dull to hurt anyone. Prairie shaves her legs, then rinses off and finishes up. She rubs her hair dry and brushes it before lifting the lid on her gift box and shooting the contents a look of surprised bewilderment. There is a stack of Victoria Secret’s Pink underwear, just plain cotton bikinis in several color variations ranging from white to peach and baby pink. Three bras have been carefully folded into themselves to fit into the box, and below that is a pretty and very simple green dress with white polka dots and flutter sleeves. It falls just to Prairie’s thighs, so she pulls on the grey heather knit leggings that are also included, then slips her feet into a pair of black platform slide sandals. There are socks, too, but she doesn’t feel like wearing them after a hot shower in a warm house.

Looking at the rosy-cheeked girl who now resides in the mirror’s reflection, she grabs onto the sink, closing her eyes as deep thoughts consume her. Each and every item of clothing has been chosen not for what Hap’s preferences might have been, but based on everything he’d been able to glean about what _Prairie_ likes. The box also holds a neat, thinly-folded pile of t-shirts with quirky slogans and various animals emblazoned on them, plus two pairs of Pink sweatpants, one in a bright sky blue with fluffy white clouds and the other in black with sporty white stripes up the side of each leg. She pulls a rubber hairband out of the tissue paper in which it's nestled and uses it to put her hair into a ponytail, feeling gradually more and more like a human being.

 _Don’t let him distract you with stupid presents,_ Prairie chides herself, but as she places the lid back on the box, she thinks about the way Hap has filled it so thickly with clothing and accessories that even though the items were flattened or scooped into smaller configurations, he’d had to use copious amounts of tape to get the top of the box to stay on. She bites her lip against the fondness that sweeps across her at the idea, then steels herself for whatever is still to come out of this evening and opens the door, heading back out to the “party.”

Dressed in serviceable sweatshirts and sweatpants of different bland colors, Prairie’s friends are flopped across the sofa and the two chairs to either side of it, lazily popping enough food into their mouths to ensure a stomach ache would be following soon after. She giggles, knowing that they know it too and don’t care. Rachel looks half-asleep as she quirks an eyebrow at Prairie’s attire.

“Wow,” Rachel observes, turning back to the screen to stare at Rudolph and Clarice. “Snazzy. You look gorgeous.”

Scott almost chokes on his pretzel sticks, taking another slug of punch and patting his throat. _Pretzels again,_ Prairie notices with a tired emotion that goes right down to her very bones. “Gee,” Scott laughs, “I wonder which of us is Hap’s favorite?”

Prairie blushes furiously and stammers, “It doesn’t matter,” feeling terrible about the angry look on Homer’s face. He despises that Hap is using the clothing to mark Prairie as somehow special, and she knows it is because Homer sees this as their captor making a silent statement that she is his property. But Prairie herself knows this couldn’t be further from the truth. She knows Hap, and the special effort he’s put into her gift is an attempt to show her his genuine respect and affection. He expects nothing from her, hates himself for the pain he’s brought into her life, and is just trying to make up for it in some miserably insubstantial way, _again._

“Homer, it’s fine,” Prairie sighs, irritated with herself because her knee-jerk reaction is _God, I am not up for his drama right now._ Homer bites his fingernail, fastening a steely gaze at the t.v., and she takes the opportunity to head back into the kitchen. 

“I take it you got rid of all your sharp objects, just in case we decided to get frisky,” Prairie says casually, ignoring the intense way Hap’s adoring gaze encompasses her. She crunches on a pretzel stick as he steps cautiously nearer, his hand gently stopping her from touching the ladle that sits in the punch bowl. 

“I also drugged the punch, so don’t drink any,” he warns as Prairie gives him an infuriated glare. “It’s harmless! It’s just going to make them sleepy, and too lethargic to try and rise up against me. Right now, your friends all feel like they’re drifting into sweet dreams underneath a heated, weighted blanket.”

Prairie crosses her arms. “Spoken like someone who’s experienced the sensation themselves.”

Hap frowns, and she knows she’s hit a nerve, which gives her a fleeting jolt of triumph. “Sometimes I need to forget for a while. I don’t partake too often, of course. Such indulgences are selfish and short-sighted when there’s so much work to do. I need to stay focused and organized.” He smiles with perverse vengefulness and adds, “Even Homer drank it, you know. He loves sugar.”

“People have different weaknesses,” Prairie snips cooly. “Homer likes cherry koolaid, and you like destroying the existences of innocent victims all under the pretense of accomplishing some great scientific feat for the good of mankind.”

“It’s not a pretense,” Hap maintains, his ease at being able to dismiss her accusation enough to make Prairie unbearably angry all over again. He sees her start to shake with the force of the rage and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I keep screwing this up.” He puts two fingers to his forehead and closes his eyes despondently. “That seems to be a special talent of mine when it comes to you. And I have no experience with this sort of thing, which makes me even less equipped to behave appropriately.”

 _”This kind of thing?”_ Prairie does a double-take at the fraught wording he’d used. Plus, what does he mean, “no experience”? Had Hap really never been in love before he met her? God, that does explain _a lot._

She can’t face how that makes her feel, the stab of sympathy and a beguiling, seductively tempting urge to protect him somehow, especially as he gives her that helpless half-smile again. He is sheepish, crawling out of his skin trying to make her happy, and it's cute as hell. About that point, she can't even kid herself. Prairie gives way to a low, trembling laugh and says, “I’m still thirsty.”

“Oh! Of course. Come with me to the kitchen.” Hap reaches up to the shelf above the stove and brings down a bottle of red wine. Prairie snorts.

“I’m not drinking that.”

Hap groans. “Oh, please, Prairie, will you try to loosen up and have some fun?”

With his dapper outfit, fit body, gorgeous face and the beseeching glow of his sweet blue eyes, Hap looks for all the world like anyone’s fantasy of the perfect boyfriend. _Holy fuck, what is happening to me?_ Prairie thinks she's starting to sweat.

 _You know what, I think I do need alcohol to get through this situation,_ Prairie snarks at herself before replying, “Fine, give me some. And a glass of water, please.” _Wait, why am I saying ‘please?’ He doesn’t deserve ‘please,’ he doesn’t get ‘please’ from me. Dammit._

She pulls herself up to sit on the counter, leaning her arm across one knee as she plays back what he’s just said and bursts out laughing. “ _I_ need to loosen up? That’s pretty rich, coming from the most uptight person I’ve ever met in my life.” Prairie plucks the glass of dark red liquid from Hap’s fingers and makes no attempt to prevent their hands from touching. Making a determination to give herself a free pass on such small indulgences since it is a special occasion, she takes a sip of the supple and complex merlot. It's fantastic.

“True enough,” Hap acknowledges. “Hey, do you want to try some caviar?”

Prairie scowls and he chuckles, adding, “I just wanted to see the look on your face. I know you don’t really go for fancy.”

“Not if it involves things like fish eggs and slimy oysters,” she replies, taking a deeper sip from her glass, appreciating the way the wine goes slightly to her head. “I like Little Caesar’s pizza and I used to dip the crust in blue cheese dressing. The fanciest date I’ve ever been on was to the Olive Garden. Sue me.”

Hap gives a subtle, thoughtful smile, sipping from his own glass of merlot as he replies smoothly, “It looks like you found one high-end item that suits you just fine.” He nods at Prairie’s newly empty glass and adds, “I bet I could introduce you to more that you’d enjoy, if you’d let me try.” 

That sounds way too good, and Prairie is starting to sink into the fantasy that the circumstances between them are different; that this is okay and so are her feelings for Hap — more than okay. Special. Enticing. Addictive.

The Christmas playlist he’d put on had been going on through all the classics steadily as they talked, and now it happens to land on the Carpenter’s “Merry Christmas Darling.” Hap’s eyes lock onto Prairie’s and this time she doesn't want to let go of the pleasure this arouses. She knows he wants to say something, and badly, but he cannot quite summon the nerve.

“What?” Prairie demands, dropping back down to the floor. 

“I want…I want to ask you to dance,” Hap admits.

“So then why aren’t you?” Prairie’s bold words seem to hit Hap like a red hot poker and he stares at her in unabashed amazement before offering up his hands as she steps between them. “Oh, I probably should’ve mentioned that I don’t actually know how to dance,” she murmurs, but he takes the lead instinctively, guiding her fluidly through easy steps.

Hap’s hands are gently firm, one closed around her palm and the other resting at her waist, but his gentlemanly approach to the dance only prompts Prairie to slide her arms up around his neck until he places his on her back, massaging her until she gives a deep sigh of satisfaction. 

“Thank you for this,” he says whole-heartedly. “It’s my Christmas present?”

“Mmm. Yes,” Prairie acknowledges, caught between tears and laughter but settling on a melancholy smile, her lips so very close to his neck. “You know, this is a nice party.”

“I’m glad.”

“But you didn’t have to get me clothing that’s any different from what you gave the others.”

“I guess I didn’t feel all that inspired when it came to them,” Hap says wryly, making her have to fight a grin.

“And you didn’t have to drug them. You need to learn how to be something approaching normal, or this is all going to fall apart. You’ve hitched all our fates to yours, and there’s awful responsibility in that, responsibility you don’t deserve. Don’t bribe us thinking we’ll forget we’re your prisoners. Hap…” Prairie draws back just enough to look up into his eyes, her heart pounding, and gives a weak supplication. “Let us go.”

“No,” he replies curtly, but there’s that gruff edge to his voice that holds his grief so insubstantially. His guilt is so big that if he ever gives into it, lets himself experience it for real, it might destroy him. Prairie knows this, but it’s not an excuse. Nothing could be.

“You’re a dick,” Prairie says sharply, tracing his cheekbone and then his lightly stubbled jawline until Hap shivers.

“That’s fair,” he agrees, his lips far too close to hers now, though he’d never cross that line without her express permission. Maybe not even then. After all, his love of Prairie is married to his guilt. How could the two emotions ever be separated or healthy?

Maybe it’s the first glass of alcohol in years, ravished so quickly after a scant sampling of appetizers, the only food she’s had in hours. Perhaps Prairie’s head is spinning and she’s disoriented and thus easily sucked down an insane rabbit hole. But later, as she’ll try to use these rationalizations, Prairie will feel them for the outrageous lies they are. And the whole reason why the words spill heedlessly from her tongue is that she’s so fucking tired of lying.

“I think I’m in love with you,” she confesses, watching the shock on Hap’s face as it shifts to terrified happiness. Now she’s scared herself, too. On another level, she knows it may take an angel to fall for a monster, but Prairie wants so much more out of life than representing Hap's chance at redemption.

“Take me back downstairs now. Back to my cell,” she adds, to protect herself from the aftermath of the moment of madness. 

“No,” he mutters defiantly, and when Prairie moves away, he pulls her to him until their bodies are flush up against each other. 

_Flush,_ she forces herself to think, remembering a dictionary assignment from school years ago. Any other thought than the tension of this moment, just to get her through. _When you’re flush up against something, you’re…”arranged edge to edge so as to fit snugly.” Yes._ But there are so many edges to this love, and each one cuts more sharply and savagely than the last.

“I won’t if you really don’t want me to,” he tells her soothingly, those strong, capable fingers kneading the tension from her back again, then sweeping up against the thin fabric of her new dress. She’s melting; this is it, she’s done for. Yet she can still say no.

“Yes,” Prairie whispers fiercely, and then his lips are on hers, slow but so very sure, just two careful, precisely teasing kisses before his tongue parts her eager lips and they clutch each other so tightly she thinks they won’t be able to breathe much longer. This is going to be the end of both of them and they know it. It’s become too hard to care.

But he’s still cautious, too much so for this to go any further under the current circumstances. Hap is still trapped in his own mind, holding his inner self hostage for the sake of more than just The Work. What would happen to him if he just let go? The idea must frighten him more than anything, Prairie ponders a little too affectionately. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch, you can take my bed. It’s Christmas, go get cozy and warm. I’ll clean up,” Hap insists, so formal and restrained as he takes his glasses from the counter and puts them on. 

“Merry Christmas, Hap,” she tells him in a complicated voice, all doubt, regret and longing. 

“Merry Christmas, Prairie,” Hap answers sadly as she disappears around the corner.

"Call me OA," she calls back at him, but she keeps going, leaving Hap alone to wonder if he'd heard her correctly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definition of "flush" from the Merriam Webster dictionary.


	3. Concession 3: Intimacy

_OA._ Khatun had bestowed the name upon her, which meant that it carried meaning beyond any other, past Nina, beyond Prairie, on into the truth. Yet for some reason, until she shared the name with Hap, OA had never used it on herself within her own thoughts. Now it’s stuck to her identity, sealed on right where it belongs. Why is it so important to be honest with the man who stole her freedom by luring her to his veritable dungeon with the most hurtful lie OA has ever experienced? 

Day by day, she paces in the small, glass-enclosed space, trying to work it out, attempting to evolve a new plan. Yes, OA continues practicing her movements, explaining to Homer, Scott, and Rachel that this holds the most likely means for their escape. That when one of them dies again, they can receive more movements. 

But then again, none of them has been taken, drugged, drowned, and revived since Christmas, and the months have been slinking by about as innocuously as they can in captivity. Hap interviews them every now and then, playing them sounds, inundating them with images in his insistently charged-up way, encouraging the four friends to reconnect with the memories from their N.D.E.’s. He keeps digging for the truth, yet not clawing through the dirt of it all anymore, not crossing the line. Violence seems to be more a last resort than ever, even compared with his past habits, that pseudo-polite manner of reducing their discomfort to the lowest possible ebb, their deaths leaving just the confusing, shivering echo of an ache.

Their meals became normal, thoughtfully chosen but simple and matching.

Hap had tried to convince OA to keep sleeping upstairs once the others returned to their cells, but she refused as usual to accept any privilege which her friends were denied. And of course, since Hap can’t keep the prisoners drugged all day and night, and there is no other way to ensure they do not attack and subdue him, he’s bereft of solutions. Or at least that’s true as long as he maintains that stubborn commitment to the extremes of his chosen project, that the subjects _must_ stay, despite every humane reason why this is inherently wrong. OA finds that she keeps hoping, more and more every day, that there’s a way to bring Hap to the light. He’s so close now. She can feel it.

Maybe her love for Hap isn’t a destiny that she should be shrinking from under the assumption that it will damage her integrity or independence. What if there is a reason why OA and Hap are meant to be together and what if that reason can save them all? She wants to keep relating her feelings to some grandly-scaled mission of goodness, but she also _needs_ to see Hap without his armor on in the worst way. It is a soul-gripping longing, and once she’d admitted her feelings aloud, once they’d kissed, OA knew she couldn’t ever deny this again.

The next time he comes for her, OA is just rolling her grey and white tie-dye t-shirt down over her stomach, where it barely grazes the waistband of her stretchy black trousers. Blushing, she continues going through the motions of her morning routine, as if it isn’t making her self-conscious that he’d nearly walked up to her when she was still almost half-naked. Pretending she hasn’t noticed his quietly respectful approach, OA rises up on her tip-toes and flexes her heels, fingers perched to the glass, feeling the stretch rejuvenating her feet and calves. Hap clears his throat and she lets her eyes flicker to his curious, undoubtedly lustful expression. Gulping, OA feels all of a sudden as light and feathery as cotton candy, melting on his tongue. Sighing into the pleasure of the fade, evaporating into the ecstatic dream of Hap making love to her, a thought OA has by now stopped trying to block from her fancies. 

Hap says nothing because he can’t speak, not the way they’re wordlessly communicating their desire, not with the impossibilities with which he’s constricted the way things _should_ be. OA follows him upstairs, waiting until the others can’t see their retreating figures anymore before reaching up to take his hand. Hap looks back at her as if he is begging her to stop tempting him, stop teasing out his most painful vulnerabilities. But he never lets go.

“I’ve, uh, I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a while now,” Hap informs OA as he leads her into an office she’s never seen before. 

The room is crammed with papers and books, the shelves overrun with facts and evidence. Bookcases are interspersed with bulletin boards, images tacked up that range from Greek mythology to stars and planets, relevant quotes from literature and science journals, numbers and figures scrawled in Hap’s familiarly impatient hand. The swift zigzag of an EKG scan, trying to assign logic to the intimacy of being defenselessly human. A laptop sits crookedly beside a thick spiral-bound notebook, pen and highligher stuffed into either side of the binding, and Hap sits down at his desk, noticing as he does that he’s left half of a muffin sitting there, next to a cup of doubtlessly cold-by-now coffee.

“Do you ever actually finish eating anything?” OA asks lightly, prompting Hap to shrug, adjusting his glasses as he starts to type, quick and smart as ever.

“I…uh, no, I tend to sort of subsist on little bits and pieces of things. The pleasure of eating is substantial, but next to the constant distraction of work, it has a way of falling by the wayside.” He cocks his head to the side reflectively, like he’s never put that much thought into his daily eating habits.

“So, you’re probably never satisfied. Just a little bit hungry, all the time?” OA hears the shameless flirtation in her tone as she darts straight to the truth and he almost shudders, held under her intensity as if it is he who is the captive. Her words are reflexive, falling naturally from her tongue because she can’t hold back from him anymore, doesn’t want to.

“Right,” he says huskily, shifting around in his chair as if he doesn’t know what to do with his body. Unquiet thoughts are racing through him. “So as I mentioned, I’ve been wondering about something.” OA raises her eyebrows interestedly. “Um, why ‘OA’? Is that like a nickname, where does that come from?”

“My guardian gave it to me when I spoke with her in the Other place,” she replies easily.

Startled by her candor, Hap is unendingly intrigued. “Wow! That’s amazing. OA. So beautiful. It suits you perfectly. Now, does it stand for something, are those letters abbreviating other words, or is it just…Oway?” He rubs his chin, lost in another speeding thought tangent, hurtling over the tracks of his inexhaustible scientific inquiry. Hap is beautiful, too, OA realizes all over again with a smile. 

He keeps going, realizing she isn’t going to answer the previous question. “Okay, then, OA. And do you think each of us has our own unique guardian in the in-between? I imagine they function as some sort of angelic gatekeeper?”

“That’s unusually wistful of you,” OA observes, the sound of her true name in his sweetly gravelly voice giving her a thrill. “Anyway, I’m not going to tell you everything at once, Hap. We need to talk about some other things. And I want to say that if circumstances change, there’s no reason why we can’t share _everything_ I know.”

Hap’s hands drift from the keyboard, landing firmly on the desk, like he’s bracing himself for the next answer. “What do you mean, about circumstances changing?”

OA stands up and he watches breathlessly as she makes her way to him, her fingers pressing against his thighs, her face angled as if preparing for a kiss. “Hap, why don’t you stop denying yourself?” He opens his mouth to object, but she continues talking. “You’re miserable. Your inner self is the most bitterly suffering, innocent victim in this whole unmitigated disaster. Let yourself just be _free_ ,” and she breathes that word with special attention, until it sounds every bit as tempting as it should be to a confirmed prisoner like Hap. “Until you do, I believe you’ll never get any closer to the truth. And this will have _all_ been for nothing, which is the only thing that could make it any worse. Hap…do you love me?”

He closes his eyes, unable to take this, and answers fervently, “I can’t say the words. It’ll change everything, and I don’t have the right to…I don’t deserve to be with you, OA. No matter how much I — no matter how I feel, I can’t! I’ve abandoned parts of my own integrity for the sake of this work, but that means I’m also obligated to respect you enough to keep a certain distance. Christmas, that was a mistake, something I never should have let myself…it’s wrong, and I can’t. You must see that.”

“All I see is a man who’s never really satisfied,” OA murmurs as she moves herself carefully against his lap. She sighs as Hap follows through, placing his hands at her hips as she lowers herself down to a sitting position, her arms dangling over his shoulders as their foreheads meet. “Hap.” OA bites her lip. “Are you afraid of love?”

“Yes,” he confesses in a gush of oxygen that seems to break at least one of the chains with which he’s locked himself up. “Yes,” Hap repeats, claiming her lips passionately, his tongue sweeping over the small bite marks left behind by her nervousness in thinking about this very eventuality. 

“But I love you,” he finally admits, as if his body hasn’t already screamed the words, his cock hardening desperately beneath her with the barest brushing together of their lips. As if his eyes haven’t made her feel that adoration even before she could see, the way his gaze on OA always seemed to stop time, uniting them despite every reason that should split them on opposing sides of a war. She knows, she’s always known. Delicately, OA takes Hap's glasses from his face and places them aside with a wavering smile. God, how she's thought about doing that.

She cups his face with both hands, kissing him more deeply, tasting the cool peppermint in that hot, wet interior. Hap’s hands delve under her shirt, first feeling the length of her arching back and then stroking forward, his big, rugged fingers moving past her ribcage and finding the underwire at the base of her bra, shifting it upwards…

OA gasps as her breasts pop out, then she’s rocking her hips. Groaning with mingled arousal and frustration at the layers of clothing between them, Hap unclasps the bra, pulls the straps down past her shoulders and drops it to the floor, his hands encompassing her breasts. He runs his thumbs across her stiff nipples, then slides her t-shirt up, laying greedy kisses on the pink nubs which have _never_ felt so acutely sensitive. Hap envelops one nipple in his mouth, sucking firmly before biting, enjoying the rough forward motion of OA’s body as she rubs against him, his other hand resting at her bare back before he transfers his attentions to the other breast. Hap reaches a hand into her hair then, and not gently, either. The motion is possessive and demanding, and OA shows her approval by sinking her teeth into his lower lip, finding it hard to believe that anyone could be so delicious. 

Massaging her hands across his chest and over his shoulders, OA lets her fingers fall to the buttons on Hap’s cobalt blue shirt, unfastening them slowly as he stares into her eyes, transfixed. Sliding the fabric back from his taut, muscled body, OA leans down, her hair tickling Hap’s skin as she kisses his neck, finding her way up and across his face to his insatiable lips. 

Hap smiles mischievously, relaxing into the encounter as he reaches inside the front of her pants, immediately pleased with the feeling of the soaked cotton coating her anxious core. “OA, what do you want?” 

“You,” she says in a begging tone, letting him know this is more than a simple invitation for him to continue. It’s a flashing neon sign announcing that if Hap stops now, she won’t be able to stand it.

He pushes her underwear to the side and enters her sopping slit with a curved finger, the swift congress causing OA to cry out at the immediate rush of pleasure. She lifts up, leaning on his shoulders for support, and rides his finger until he can’t resist adding a second one, pumping in and out, coated in her juices and soon joyfully trapped by her body as she clamps down around his touch. OA’s head slams against Hap’s shoulder and she bites him hard while the orgasm seizes her. He moans at the sharp sensation of his flesh between her teeth, and as the last waves of euphoria crash over OA, she lets out a small whimper which seems to inspire Hap like no sound he’s ever heard. He licks his fingers slowly and thoughtfully, and the sight hits OA like the most illicit and daring touch, especially when his tongue darts over his lips. He’s prolonging his experience of her flavor, and she feels her pussy twitch again at the realization. No one has ever had this kind of power over her.

“I want you inside me,” OA tells Hap, pulling at his shoulders impetuously, unable to summon any kind of organized seduction, and so relying on matching her movements to her feverish needs.

There’s no need to discuss protection. Soon after her original arrival, she’d had to divulge to Hap that she’d been on birth control since she was a teenager. If she didn’t take the pills, her periods were irregular and very painful. Hap had the connections to easily procure her regular packs of the pills, and had been providing them all along.

After yanking her underwear and trousers off, Hap undresses from the waist down. OA follows his prompt without a moment’s hesitation, sinking down over his thick length almost too hastily, her breath sticking in her throat as his cock stretches her tight, pulsing walls. Hap grabs her before she falls over in the shock of the moment, securing her attentively as she settles against him, then nudges forward, gripping his back as his eyes widen in harsh, surreal joy. 

OA loves his uncontrolled surrender, craves the ragged sighs that escape his lips as she rides him, so much so that she fears she won’t be able to hold out long before coming again. Still, it astonishes her when it happens, when she slides her slick pussy down over his rigid cock, his hands locked so tightly around her, and a white-hot explosion spreads out from within her until she could almost scream or cry. All she can do is give way to the splintered cries that spill from her mouth until she can’t recognize her own voice. All she can do is tremble harder than ever, continuing to fuck Hap until he comes, a molten succumbing that has his now-sweating hands clamping onto her arms as they both pant. 

It’s like being inside the Louvre after a life of pining to see great works of art and never seeing anything but four dull painted walls closing in, or like being ushered into a five star restaurant after a lifelong diet of water and crackers, and that’s why they can’t stop, won’t stop as long as they can summon energy to continue. Right now, that’s not a problem, though her tingling, shaky legs seem to warn OA that eventually she might just collapse or go into some kind of sex coma. It’s an idea that ought to make her giggle, but somehow it seems like a more distinct possibility than she might previously have imagined possible — still, she’s exultant as Hap stands them both up, then makes room on the surface of his crowded desk by hastily shoving everything aside. 

Laying OA’s upper body across the desktop, Hap hits his knees and spreads her legs, kissing her pussy with slavish devotion, licking deeper until she yelps happily and he knows she’s prepared for what comes next. He reaches for her wrists, pinning her down aggressively as she smiles, her cheek resting against the smooth, cool wood as she does her best to watch him. OA can only catch glimpses out of the corner of her eye as he thrusts inside her again, but the sight and the feeling are enough to elicit her strangled gasp. Hap slides into her pleading pussy gradually, squeezing her ass and sighing in what is certainly unmistakable _satisfaction_. Impatient, she tries to move back against him so that he’s encouraged to pick up speed, go as deep as possible, and it works because he can’t say no to her despite whatever temptation he might feel to draw this out. “Nothing’s ever felt this fucking good,” he tells her, still keeping OA delightfully trapped beneath his iron hold around her hands. 

“Mmm,” she answers in some kind of pathetically hazy trance, not able to supplement the answer with anything but a second, longer repetition of the phrase as he drives into her, then lets go of one of her hands so that he can finger her, too. This time, she can’t help it. Slamming her free hand down on the desk and jerking her hips back against him, she gives into a sob, tears stinging her eyes and raw throat as she comes harder than ever, right in unison with Hap, whose own cry is nearly as overtly frenzied. OA lets her arms go limp, learning to breathe again until he gathers her tenderly into his embrace, back in the chair. He presses her against him, her head nestling in the crook of his neck, his hands returning that amazingly skilled massaging motion to her back until they regain their strength.

“Let’s go and lay down,” She proposes softly, standing up and realizing that it makes little sense to try and thrust her wobbly legs back into those tight trousers. She opts to slip back into her panties, mainly because the cold soak of the fabric reminds her of how truly she belongs to him. Hap nods, throwing his trousers back on but not bothering to button them, leading OA to appreciate the way they rest just below his hips. God, if she wasn’t totally spent right now….her heart smacks against her ribcage, her almost-numb legs shake, and OA knows she really does need to rest. 

Taking Hap’s hand, she brings him to his bed, the place she’s fantasized about since the one night she’d spent there, breathing his scent in from the pillows, affectionately letting her fingers stroke the mismatching blankets. 

OA lays her ear against his heartbeat, which hasn’t slowed back to normal yet, and he rakes his fingers through her hair until it fans out around her shoulders.

“I love you so much,” he admits then. “I was never taught how to love, so I believed it was impossible for me. I don’t even know how to let myself need someone, but I don’t think I can live without you. That’s why I don’t know what to do. I can’t see a way out of this mess where I _don’t_ lose you, OA. Even that thought is so selfish that I hate myself.”

There are so many stories behind the haunted words, and this isn’t the time to press him for details when she can only imagine how hard it is for Hap to address his past. OA knows that she will eventually learn, convince him to do as she’d asked and share everything. 

“I’ve never heard your voice like this before,” she tells him, encouraging him despite his woe, wrapping a leg around his and resting her chin on her hand so she can see his amazed, almost disbelieving face. “So open, so true. You shouldn’t hate yourself, Hap. But you do have to let _all_ of your feelings in. Take the consequences or we’ll both be doomed.”

“What do we do now?” He’s giving her a singular sort of authority and she takes the initiative. 

“You’re going to free yourself completely, give into me, show me the depth of your love.” OA runs her hand over his face and he leans into her touch. What he must say next is inevitable, and he knows it. She sees as much in his gentle, broken-heartedly devoted smile. _Beautiful,_ she thinks again. Lifting herself further until their hearts meet, she kisses his cheek. He knows just what she means.

“I’m going to let you go. All of you.” The words hurt; they almost choke him. It isn’t pride, not with her, not now. It’s the guilt he’s fighting to control. “I put the work ahead of everything because I thought the ends justified the means, that I was going to bring peace of mind to all of humanity. I became myopic, everything else going out of focus and now…what could be more important than doing the right thing, for you? It’s me who’s been blind from the very beginning, OA. But not anymore.”

She nods thoughtfully. “I want you to know, that isn’t why—”

Hap kisses her mouth and says quietly, “I know. I know that.”

“Let me say it anyway. I made love to you because I love you. Always remember that you have my heart.” 

He nods as words fail him utterly, then forces himself to sit up, lifting the sheets as if he thinks he’s actually going somewhere right now. 

“What are you doing?” OA asks, almost accusatory.

“There’s so much to do, I should get started right away. Travel arrangements, for one thing.”

She reaches her arms out and gives a small pout. “Get back here. Another hour or so won’t make a difference. You know they’re all down there watching _The View_ anyway. Take me in your arms like you’re never letting go.”

“That, I can do,” Hap agrees gladly, returning to wrap her up in his embrace. As much as she’s always had this _thing_ for his scent, when she nuzzles into Hap now, the new, overpowering smell of both of them together is even better. 

“Oh, and by the way,” OA adds, her eyes twinkling at his questioning expression. She knows she can take and enjoy this bliss no matter how short-term it may be. OA wants that for Hap, too. “Good morning,” she grins.


	4. Concession 4: Rest now

“I can’t believe this,” OA murmurs dreamily, lying across Hap’s chest, long legs comfortably stretched, her feet lifted and dangling, waving back and forth in a way he finds distractingly adorable. 

“What can’t you believe?” Hap kisses her nose playfully, then runs both hands over the sides of her face, stroking her hair, then tracing her full, very over-kissed lips with his thumbs.

“That we’re here, of course.” She laughs because he knows exactly what she meant but wants to hear _her_ speak the words. “That we kissed, even. God! How impossible did _that_ seem even just a couple of months ago? That we…” Maybe she shouldn’t still feel shy about the next part, but she does, blushing and biting her lip. “That we made love…” 

On the other hand, it was also the _way_ they’d made love, the hot, aching fervor of it, the rough and tender tangle of feeling and touch that she can’t begin to get out of her head….it is certainly blush-worthy.

Hap raises his eyebrows, very aroused by her sweetly girlish attitude about the subject. “That you’re going to do what’s right now,” OA continues warmly. “I believe in you, Hap. There’s hope. You can be who you were always meant to become, if you just hold onto the goodness in your heart. This time, don’t let go. It will guide you home and when you get there, I’ll be waiting.”

His gaze is soft and lingering as he gives a small nod, caught between the happiness of freely loving her and the fear of grief, the impending weight of retribution both external and internal for his past mistakes looming large. 

Neither of them knows what the path home will entail for Hap once he’s released the other captives. Will he turn himself into the police, can she bear to let him? Over the course of several hours, they’d turned the subject over, unable to fully decide. OA’s ethical side keeps clashing against her need to be with Hap until she has no idea which end is up. Loving this man is so very far from simple. As an alternative to that more immediately clear-cut justice, can Hap dedicate himself to bettering the lives of others using only morally sound methods in order to make up for his crimes, cure the ill, keep trying to conquer death until he breaks through and becomes a hero? Is it right to lock him up if he could be saving people on a regular basis? To what extent might their feelings be leading them astray and whispering yet another concession, that of morality giving into the temptation of “this makes up for it,” even if that can never be rightfully quantified?

“ _You’re_ all the goodness in my heart, OA,” Hap assures her, haunted. “Before you, I thought I _was_ doing good because of what I could ultimately achieve. I was molded into short-sighted, selfish hubris by all I’d been taught in life: that love was some intangible, untouchable fantasy, a lie sold by greeting card companies. That’s all my family ever taught me and all my sloppy attempts at past relationships could nail into my brain. I thought my work could at least bring some _purpose_ to my otherwise stupid, inane existence."

“How could you have ever felt that way about yourself, how could others fail to see the light in you, your brilliance and how special you are?” OA frowns, hovering over him as his eyes shift from her, self-conscious to have revealed his perilously low self esteem. “Don’t do that,” she urges gently, “Look at me, Hap.” 

He clears his throat against a small sob and returns wet blue eyes to her beseeching gaze. “You’re _amazing,_ Hunter Aloysius Percy. You’ve accomplished feats of science that no one before you could even approach, broken down walls you had no reason to know even _existed_ except for your beautiful thirst for the truth, your sharp mind that can seek out the most well-hidden reality behind the curtain, but know this.”

He blinks his tears back and OA uses one finger to pluck a fallen drop away, licking the salt and smiling with unabashed adoration. “This life is no coma. It’s all we have to cling to. Finding the secrets of the beyond can never come in second place to _living._ Do you see that now?”

“I never had someone to live for until now,” Hap admits, rising up on his elbows and looking at her more intensely than ever. “Thank you for waking me up.”

“No matter what happens, we both have so much to live for, so much happiness at our fingertips that it hurts…in a good way.” OA grins. “Are you ready to get started?”

*****************************************************************************

OA thinks it’s a mistake for Hap to take the time to apologize and make amends to Rachel, Scott and Homer before driving them to the train station. The trio would know, by this particular means of their departure, from whence they had traveled, and would surely be able to tell the authorities where Hap was located. So if OA and Hap were running, it had to be today, right after they left. If they stayed, it meant that he was going to confess, face the law’s decision on his fate. Her hands tremble as she zips up a traveling bag she’s packed with snacks and other amenities for her friends. 

_God, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what’s right. I’m so selfish that I just want him with me forever. If he’s locked away, how will I get through it?_

She had to force herself to be strong and respect Hap’s right to turning himself in if that’s what he chose. At least they would still be a million times better off than they would be if he was still living in the fog of self-hatred and misguidedly destructive decisions from which he had finally emerged.

“Be very careful, Hap,” she warns, but he shakes his head, determined.

“I owe them so much more than this that to skip over it would be disgraceful.” He follows through with his plan, leading the prisoners upstairs and making his speech, explaining the way his unhappy life had led him astray. But the hatred never leaves Homer’s gloomy glare, Scott just fidgets impatiently, squirming to get away from the man whose presence still terrifies him, and Rachel’s look is politely glazed, like she thinks listening will aid in an end to this nightmare, and that’s the only reason why she does.

“OA, you’re coming with us, right,” Homer sniffs, eyes glistening demandingly, as if the words are not a question but a proclamation.

“I’m staying here,” she replies without shame but also conveying compassion for the way this will baffle and disappoint the others. “I want to stay.”

“You’re insane. He’s made you insane,” Homer accuses angrily, his eyes suddenly darting all over the place, making OA glad that anything that could be a weapon is still gone from Hap’s living space. 

But within mere seconds, she’ll feel the full brunt of her own idiocy, of Hap’s foolish, uncharacteristically optimistic assumption that this could really go off without a hitch.

“Hold her back,” Homer grunts to Rachel and Scott, who lunge forward, instantly grabbing OA’s arms and trapping her as she tries and fails to struggle free.

“Let go of me!” OA shrieks in a burst of fury and horror. 

“This for your own good, and you know it, deep down,” Scott says with that familiar tremble still holding his voice hostage to his emotions. OA senses that he believes he’s doing the right thing, but he doesn’t like this a bit.

“You’ve got Stockholm Syndrome, OA,” Rachel adds soothingly. “We’ll get you help, but first we have to make sure Hap can’t ever come after us again.”

OA smashes her foot down on Scott’s but he just flinches and curses before he and Rachel drag her to the spare room and push her inside, slamming the door and locking it from the outside.

“Fuck!” OA screams, slamming her fists on the door. “Let me out! Don’t hurt him!”

It’s the worst fear imaginable, but it gets so much worse when the certainty takes over, the sound of the three of them rounding on Hap, Rachel and Scott essentially just witnesses as Homer does _something_ that muffles Hap’s cries, makes his foot stomp down on the floor. And then the unmistakable sound of his feet sliding out from under him in a surrendering collapse makes OA fall to the floor in helpless despair. 

_No. This can’t be happening._

It bursts from her throat, raw and primal, with another painful smack of her fist to the merciless door. _“No! Don’t you touch him! Let me go!”_

Homer opens the door with a rueful, almost apologetic expression. “OA, I had to. Someday you’ll understand.”

OA smashes her hand into his shoulder, pushing through him to find Hap where he’s lying motionless on the kitchen floor, plastic bubble wrap tightly confining his face. No breath moves his chest.

Turning to face her former friends, OA’s face reddens as tears of fire spill from her eyes, her fists tightening at her sides. “Get out,” she demands in a low, wrathful voice that makes all three of them flinch.

“OA, you need to come with us. We’ll get you to safety, we’ll help you get home,” Rachel tries to plead.

“I _am_ home. Now get the hell out of here before I do something we’ll all regret,” OA threatens, the tears flooding her face and choking her breaths around the words. “If you ever come near us again, I’ll make you very sorry.”

“What do you mean, ‘us’, OA? Fuck, man, he’s dead, you know that,” Scott reasons.

“Get. The fuck. _Out_!” OA screams, tremors rocking her body. The three of them make a beeline for the door. 

Homer stammers one more time. “S-sorry..."

“Don’t ever let me see your face again,” OA weeps, hitting her knees beside Hap’s body, numb to the pain of the rough impact. The screen door closes behind the others as they hastily depart, too freaked out and traumatized to bother shutting the outside door.

Sobbing, she yanks the thick enfolding of plastic from Hap’s face and then straddles him, pumping against his chest with all the strength her panicked arms can muster. Then she leans in and gives him her life breath, repeating the process over and over again until finally, _thank God_ , his body jerks hard beneath her.

OA’s face is soaked, her red eyes hurting so badly she can barely open them, her throat wounded by the power of her screaming and crying until the word “Hap” springs from her lips almost inaudibly and she has to repeat it in a feverish whisper.

“Hap,” she begs, shaking his shoulders. “Come back to me, baby, I need you. I can’t be without you. Hap!”

He opens his eyes and blinks at her in a haze of disorientation. “I can’t,” he begins, petrified by confusion. “I can’t move, I want to…touch you…” his murmur breaks as Hap fumbles for her arm, fingers trembling upward just to fall because only moments ago, he was dead.

OA lifts his head onto her knee and keeps crying over him, stroking his cheek as he stares up groggily. “Oh, my God,” she whimpers, “I thought I lost you. I thought I fucked up and lost you forever, Hap, and it would have destroyed me.”

“Please don’t cry,” Hap asks her with a strangely lucid attentiveness, as if her wretched state has forced him back to awareness of what’s happened. “I can’t stand it when you cry. I’m here.”

But she’s still in shock, body still a slave to the torrent of emotion running through her until he grounds her with a kiss, taking her fingers to his mouth and smiling. “It’s going to be okay now. I promise. Please believe me. Thanks--thanks for waking me up, _again_.” Hap coughs hard, so she props him up, rubbing his back as he leans over, heaving new breaths that she’s won back for him.

“Did you, uh…” He flops back down against her, not strong enough yet even to sit. “Did you just call me…’baby’?”

OA’s giggle cuts through her crying until she realizes suddenly that she _can_ stop weeping now. She takes three very deep breaths and braces herself, one arm wrapped around Hap to support him as the other hand presses into the cold linoleum.

“Yeah,” she admits, “I guess I did, huh? C’mon, let me get you to your bed.” She carefully helps him to stand, so much of his weight relying on her that it’s lucky the walk is a short one. OA barely makes it, especially because her own form is still wracked with trauma, and sighs in relief as she is at last able to assist him down onto the mattress.

“Here,” OA adds, easing his head onto two pillows to make his breathing easier. She feels his pulse; it’s racing, he’s vital, excited, _with her,_ he’s truly survived. Letting herself believe it until it sinks into her pores, she lies down beside him, resisting the urge to cover him in passionate kisses because he’s still so weak. “They broke your glasses,” she tells him regretfully.

“That’s alright,” Hap assures her, recognizing that she's still processing what has occurred. He massages her tired knuckles and adds, “I know my prescription. OA…it’s fine. I understand, I’m not even mad at them. You shouldn’t be either.”

“I know that,” OA allows stonily, “They barely even knew what they were doing, and even in that, they were so sure it had to be done. But I may never forgive them.” Her anger is a mighty, imposing, glorious force, and it gives Hap pause. If he hadn’t one hundred percent realized how deeply she loved him before, he knows it now, staring into the barely restrainable storm raging in the eyes of his angel.

“You’re too good to let vengeance consume you,” Hap reminds her fondly, then he closes his eyes as if he’s trying to remember something almost lost. “I’m…I’m almost grateful for what the three of them did, except for the effect it had on you. That’s something I could never condone. Nothing could ever be worth seeing you like that. I’m sorry. It’s my own fault. If I hadn’t hurt them…they wouldn’t have…”

OA nods because it’s true, but she still doesn’t care. Maybe she never will; maybe there’s a new coldness in her from what just happened that will, in some small way, come to define her. A steely, protective instinct over Hap that will leave her looking over her shoulder every day for the rest of her life, anticipating some new threat to his safety so that she’s ready for anything. But even if she has changed in this way, it’s worth it.

Something occurs to her; it’s that he just said a very strange phrase she can’t put meaning to. “Hap, what do you mean, you’re almost grateful?”

“Okay, don’t be mad,” he pleads, grinning and nervous, skin still clammy under her touch.

“I can’t be mad at that face,” OA smiles.

“It’s just that…you never told me dying felt like _that_!” Hap enthuses with an energy he shouldn’t be able to summon. “It’s astounding, OA, it’s everything I ever imagined and so much more that…it’s going to redefine my life’s worth completely.”

“You’re unbelievable,” she says in a sigh that’s caught between accusation and affection. “ _Seriously,_ Hap?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t go back again, even though I wish I’d captured more detail, retained it better in my memory. It’s still fading even now, but I know I’ll keep some, just enough, maybe…if it weren’t for you, I’d probably seek out a controlled environment with a willing partner to kill me a few more times, but—”

OA’s finger stills his lips and she gives him her sternest look, though another smile tugs her face until she has no choice but to let it spread. “You’re fucking incorrigible, Hap.”

“It turns you on a little,” he brags with a smirk, right before he has to cough again. She sees him through it, then pulls his head against her breasts, wrapping her arms around his sweaty body, feeling the way their trembles fit together like puzzle pieces. 

“It turns me on a _lot_. But you’re never ever doing that again. We can study everything we’ve learned, and we’ll do it together. It’s all opening up,” she lets herself relax again into their new destiny. “There’s so much we can achieve, and so many countless days of happiness we can have wrapped up in each other. So you’d better believe I’ll never let you go."

Hap knows a thing or two about obsession, to the extent that he’s unendingly flattered to be OA’s personal fixation. “I like the sound of that…baby.” He kisses her lips and his are so moist and feeble that the single application of pressure is almost more than he can achieve. So she initiates the next few soft, careful brushes of their mouths. “Darling,” he whispers, stirring a sharp twinge of arousal within her. “my angel.” Their lips touch again, tentative, feathery, and he adds, “sweetie-pie.” OA chuckles at his cuteness. He likes that laugh, so he goes on, “Honey,” kissing her eyelids and stroking her hair. “Buttercup…”

“ _Buttercup?_ ” Prairie repeats incredulously, “Maybe just on Saturday nights.”

Hap’s eyes widen as a new flicker of inspiration crosses them and he licks his lips, running his hands more firmly over the smooth, lithe lines of her body as they shift positions and she nestles against him with a contented exhalation. “Kitten,” he adds archly, fingers dancing over the soft mound of one breast before he grazes a nipple and massages her bottom with his other hand. Prairie’s mouth falls open slightly, and one of Hap’s big, skillful fingers spreads it further, like an implicit promise of erotic devotion. Yes, there’s something about that pet name she especially likes. 

She shudders with pleasure and makes herself say, “Stop turning me on. You just almost died, you have to rest now and recover. We have to get out of here, get away, as soon as you’re able to move from this bed. Hap! Do you hear me?” He’s realized that life is just too short, which would account for the loving mischief that’s lighting up his face, making warmth pool through her body. 

“Yes, kitten,” he agrees with a sweetly tasty, dark playfulness that makes her think he’s hatching some sexy plan for after they get the hell away from the scene of this crazy situation, “Whatever you say. I’m breathing, I'm resting.” Hap gives two long, somewhat theatrical breaths and earns a swat on the shoulder, making him grab her fingers again and apply his irresistible caress, treating them like cherished treasures, as always. 

“Hey, do you know, I think I got something from that NDE. Fuck, I can’t believe I had a NDE! This is so cool!” There it is again, his geeky side, back in full force. It’s another flavor of sexy in which he excels, OA thinks affectionately. “When I was in the other dimension, which I’ll describe at length of course when we have time, which I’ll need you to record—”

“Of course,” OA puts in wryly, smoothing out his rumpled shirt over his ruggedly fit body, distracted by his adorable tangent.

His voice is still gruff from his ordeal and dammit, he needs to sleep, she’s got to get him to sleep. “I swallowed some…wait now, I can just about pull the memory from my brain…wow, this is remarkable. I — believe it or not, I swallowed this…like…an animal, I think?”

She knows the importance of this development, but her concern for his health gives her tunnel vision. “Hap, shut your eyes.” She slides her face against his chest as his arm tightens, then he remembers he doesn’t have the strength to maintain the pressure and has to loosen the embrace slightly. “Now. Sleep. I’ll stay awake. Take an hour, and then let me call us a cab. Those three took your car when they left. Depending on how soon they reach out to the authorities, an hour might be about all we’ve got. They'll be looking for your body, checking what happened to me...I’ll take you away, alright? Just sleep first, help me be able to do that for us.”

He nods, closing his eyes and slipping into unconsciousness almost gratefully, like she’s calmed that beast in him which never wants to stop asking questions. “Yeah. ‘Kay. Goodnight,” Hap says in willing defeat.

“It’s eleven am,” OA whispers and he laughs drowsily.

“Doesn’t matter. ‘Nite-nite, OA. Kitten. Baby girl. So many things I want to do to you, so many things I want us to share…” He’s going to literally tease her, and possibly resume pondering his NDE visions, until he’s asleep, and then he’s probably going to dream about a life of screwing her senseless in between feeding her exquisite meals in fancy restaurants and sweeping her away to the opera, before the two of them hunker down in some fantastic, sparkling lab facility where they can delve into every mystery that beckons from the beyond.

OA watches him follow his meanderings to repose and then focuses on his gold watch, clasped around her wrist, lifted to her eye level. She’s going to stare into every second that ticks by until she can call that cab, monitoring his breathing, his heart, making sure he's really going to get through this without their having to resort to a hospital. Now she’s Hap’s protector, and she’ll see him through this change, bring them to the fruition of any wildly impractical dream that’s flooding his inner world now. They’re her dreams, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to GypsySisters for the awesome idea of the plot twist in this chapter as well as Hap's typically fascinated attitude about his NDE :D


	5. Concession 5: Face Your Fears

The first night OA finds Hap shaking and sweating in the throes of a panic attack, she knows she’s seen this coming. 

Not with her prophetic dreams; she only gets inexplicable fragments in those, swatches of a school, students — kids she’s never seen in real life, sounds of bullets eating through air and popping violently into human flesh. Visions of disaster to come, but with no details to guide OA to find and prevent the attack or save anyone, which frustrates her beyond belief and breaks her heart with the force of her own vile uselessness. She has to sneak into the bathroom and blot the blood from her nose because if Hap knew how she was being torn apart by the dreams, he’d worry excessively, compounding his nervous state until she feared he would have a breakdown.

OA can’t tell Hap about her dreams because he’s hanging on by a thread that’s fraying more with each passing day.

It started off with him gradually becoming more guarded and reserved around her, accepting her hugs and kisses as if to please her, and making excuses to stifle his arousal and the follow-through she knows he wants desperately. OA knew he was punishing himself and she could guess why.

“I never said that,” he chuckled dismissively one day, head bent over science journals spread out beside his new laptop. They were working on scouting a location for a new lab to continue the work, do it right this time. The excitement he’d expressed in analyzing his NDE was another pleasure he forbade himself from pursuing now. She was even starting to doubt that they’d end up in the lab. To Hap, researching potential facilities seemed like more of a vague hobby to fill the time. 

For now, they were renting a cabin in Vermont. It was cozy and secluded with room for thought, rebuilding, and recovery. The furnished cabin was nicely decked out in rustic country style, and OA adored the way Hap looked in the setting, like that rare spread from an LL Bean catalog that would make her need a cold shower. Glasses perched on his nose and head propped up in his palm, stretching his legs out under the table, wearing blue jeans and a green-gray plaid flannel shirt…she could get used to this tempting sight, if he would just relax.

“Mmm, you did,” OA smiled, sinking into his lap as his arms hesitated, then encircled her. He let out a sigh of relief as he allowed himself the indulgence of resting his head against her breast, a self-evicted wanderer returning home just for the moment. She imitated his deep voice, continuing, “Kitten. Baby girl. So many things I want to do to you, so many things I want to show you.’” She laughed, trying to get him to smile. “It sounded pretty fucking fantastic to me.”

Hap looked up at her in surprise. “Really?”

“Well, of course. I love you, you dork. I think you’re the sexiest, most irresistible human on the planet. I like you calling me those names and I _want_ you, I want you to do… _things_ to me.” She used her slinkiest, most suggestive purr on the words, but he still blinked at her disbelievingly. “Hap.” She exhaled with a sharp sadness. “I miss you.”

“I’m sorry. Can I tell you why I’ve been distant? You deserve that.” She nodded, so he went on, “When we were going to leave, before Homer attacked me, I was at least seventy percent certain I had to turn myself into the authorities. But when you revived me, I was in such a state of gratitude to be alive and _with you_ that I thought running off together sounded like a perfect idea. I let myself off the hook, sank into your belief that if I could save so many others through my work, sitting in a jail cell would actually be immoral. I wanted to hear that, wanted to believe it.” Hap chewed on his knuckle until OA lowered his skin from his teeth with a frown.

“It’s true. _You_ deserve to be able to start over, Hap.” Ever since he started holding himself back from their happiness, OA felt a new selfishness growing inside her, taking her over. She would do almost anything to avoid losing him, and if that was wrong, she seemed unable to make herself act accordingly.

“I think I’m here because you want me to be here, and I cannot allow you to suffer, OA. My absence would hurt you, and I don’t know if I could bear the thought of that. But more and more, when I close my eyes at night, even when I _blink_ , I see the things I did. Mostly I see the ways I hurt you, betrayed your trust, made you live like an animal…I _killed_ you!” She had to slide off his lap because he jerked up from the chair to pace, wringing his hands. “I can’t be out here, acting like that’s all just fine simply because I am capable of helping others _now._ Letting myself be happy with you, calling you pet names, doing everything I wish we could: I can’t. Nothing can erase the past, and I need to pay for what I did. But I can’t do that either because of you, and it.” Hap dug his fists into his closed eyes. “It doesn’t make sense.”

This told her everything she needed to know about why they hadn’t made love since leaving and the heartbroken, miserable glow of unshed tears that glazed his eyes when he looked at her these days. Hap won’t allow himself the luxury of accepting affections which he doesn’t feel he deserves. He sees himself as the ruiner of her life, her tormenter, her hunter, and her words no longer sway him. Nothing works, OA has found to her agonizing, growingly paranoid disappointment, no amount of her forgiveness or proclamations about her ability to see him for the good man he always truly wanted to be. 

So it’s hardly a surprise, finding him crumpled and crying on the living room rug in front of the fireplace. The flames crackle and cast warm orange light over his wretched face, splintering what’s left of her heart. OA sits beside him and pulls him into her embrace, whispering words of love and kissing his feverish forehead, stroking trembling fingers through his hair. Hoping this isn’t it, the end, the night he walks out on her to find the nearest police station and confess.

The other captives had told their story; it was splashed all over the news even now, a month later, though this was hardly surprising given what a fantastical, harrowing ordeal the tale comprised. In the old, bad days, Hap had gathered plenty of rainy day emergency kits for his potential need to escape capture, fake ID’s and extra money ensuring that it wasn’t hard for him and OA to disappear. This only made him feel worse.

They keep their heads down in public, Hap always donning a baseball cap and sunglasses, OA going through a variety of wigs and dark lipsticks. He has a beard now, and she loves that.

“I have to go, I have to face justice,” Hap tells her now as she rocks him gently in her arms. 

“Hap, I have to tell you something important, something I should have told you a while ago,” OA manages to gulp the words out but it’s hard.

_This is wrong. He has the right to decide his own fate and I’m being unforgivably greedy._ In the grip of this turning point, OA can’t quite recognize herself. Her voice sounds like a distant thing, ghostly and conniving.

She tells him all about her dreams and her theory that there is a way to study them, discover the location and time of the shooting she’s foreseen so that they can save the lives of the students. “I need you to stay with me, Hap, or I won’t be able to stop it. Please.” It’s all true. Who else but Hap would understand or believe in her abilities enough to aid in the endeavor? Yet it might be an impossible gambit, and at worst a stalling tactic, and she knows this as well.

He listens mutely, his head having landed on her knee as he stares up at her with renewed obedience. “Then I’ll help you, and we’ll find a way to prevent the shooting. After that, I can turn myself in.”

A temporary delay. Maybe in the interim, OA will be able to get him to believe in himself the way she does. It’s a dream tarnished by the numbing despair of seeing him like this, in pieces. She'll anything to save him from his self-hatred, even if it seems like a cheap plastic store-brand bandage slicked over a gushing knife wound.

“I can’t believe you’ve been enduring these dreams and didn’t tell me. Serves me right for making you worry with…” Hap runs a hand through the air over his slowly recovering form and continues “All this nonsense. I’ve been cowering in the quicksand since we got here, but no more. You need me, and it’s time I sucked it up and faced the destiny I’ve earned.”

“Hap, we need each other. I promise that I understand why you want to turn yourself in, and I respect it, I’m proud of you…but if you’re going to stay with me and we’re going to do this, investigating my dreams, can we please be together? I’m sorry to sound so pathetically needy, but I’m wilting away without your touch. Let yourself love me again. Even if eventually you’re doing it from behind bars, telling me to forget you and get on with my life, listening to me say I’ll _never_ do that, then give into me. I’m yours whether you think you deserve it or not. That’s not what love is. There’s no common sense, no rationale, just two people who become each other’s world. Don’t take the color from my skies, Hap. Please. Be with me.”

He lifts up, his strength starting to return, and places one big, protective hand on each of her soft cheeks, thumbs stroking her jaw until she thinks she could die of happiness. It’s been so long since she’s felt a touch from him that wasn’t compulsory due to his self-punishing. 

“I worry about the way I am with you, too,” Hap admits, “When we had sex, I was…forceful…aggressive. I held you down. I get swept up in you, OA. You’re exceptionally strong and achingly delicate at the same time, unspeakably beautiful and so sensual.” Hap gives her a hot, hard look, as if just with his eyes, he’s ripping her clothes off and pushing her against the wall, and OA shudders in pure bliss. “I like dominating you, and that has to be connected to my insane need for control. That clearly led to my crimes, the captivity, treating humans like lab rats, and to think that there’s any shade of that in the way I love you, it’s unacceptable.”

OA is so immensely glad for this confession; it makes his entire struggle so much clearer. She knows how to help him, she thinks. 

“First of all, it’s never been a mystery to me or probably anyone who’s spent five minutes in your presence that you’re a pent-up, type-A control freak,” OA tells him, careful in her delivery, using gentle humor to take him by surprise and lighten the mood. It works: he gives a short chortle of agreement. “Sure, maybe if you were going to follow your studies to the extreme and fall prey to the dark side of yourself, you’d do it in a pent-up, type-A control freak kind of way. But those don’t have to be bad qualities, Hap. They can be very, very good ones, in fact. See…those are the same aspects of your personality that helped you to get further than anyone else ever has into the secrets of the afterlife. You made mistakes, awful ones, and you went about it in the wrong way, but the discoveries you hunted and the ideas you had were tremendous, ground-breaking, inspiring. You inspire me.”

He’s not really convinced, not yet, despite the hopeful glimmer he almost lets break into his expression, soaking up her words like a bee drinking nectar. He lets her keep talking.

“I have my flaws, too, by way of comparison.” He opens his mouth to object, but she shakes her head. “I’m short-sighted, I jump to conclusions and take crazy chances, not that being with you now is one of them. Going with you when I met you was, though. I can be self-absorbed, I can twist the truth to my own purpose and make up excuses why that’s okay. But now I’m laying nothing but total honesty out here for you, Hap. My flaws don’t have to define me as a creature doomed to repeat the same mistakes. They’re there to make me human, they’re there to define the lessons I learn that guide me to better choices. Like forgiveness, or following my thirst for adventure right into your arms. Right here.” OA puts her fingers over his heart. “Where I’m supposed to be, no matter what.”

“In case it isn’t totally obvious, I’m also a hell of a monologuer,” OA says, and they both laugh.

“I’m not entirely sure you shouldn’t be a motivational speaker or possibly a used car saleswoman,” Hap teases, some of the old mischief sneaking back into his voice.

“This speech is about to wrap up, and it’s going to end with me telling you that there are healthy ways to express who you are and what you like. When you were aggressive with me sexually, I liked it. I’ve been picturing it in my head, with lots of ideas about what else we could do, almost nonstop since that day. If there’s a darkness in you that makes you want to hold me down and fuck me, and that’s what I want too, then that’s a _good_ thing, it’s a healthy expression, it’s…” He’s staring at her completely aghast and her cheeks, already pink from the fire and her raging emotions, go red. “Hap, right here and now, if it’s what you feel, then say it again to me.”

OA takes his hands and brings him up to a standing position in front of her. So that he’ll know she means it, she puts her fingers on his shoulders and lets her fierce, relentless longing show in her face, unquestionable. “Say it again, with one small correction. Say, ‘I like dominating you…kitten.’”

“OA,” Hap says, abashed, scared of himself. He looks away, eyes trying to find a place to land that won’t lead him astray, but her presence yanks him back to her like a magnet. 

She kisses his lips softly, innocent but in no way chaste, then asks, “Is it what you like, what you want? Am _I_ what you want, in that way?”

“From the beginning, and always,” Hap confesses huskily, starting to let go. It sends a thrill singing through her, that almost-surrender. So close now. What will he do?

“Say it,” OA whispers into his ear as his lips touch her neck, still tentative, though he allows himself a small nip, enjoying her small cry of joy at the long-missed sensation of her skin in his teeth. “Do it.” That’s when he sees her hanging on the moment for dear life and understands the pain of the deprivation he’s occasioned her. To say the very least, it motivates him.

“I like dominating you,” Hap growls, uncaged by her shameless invitation. He backs her against the wall and pins her hands above her head, staring her down. “Kitten.” His dark smirk could almost make her come, OA realizes in her too-long-deprived near-frenzy. 

_Fuck, yes. Finally._

He lingers there, adding, “It’s been selfish and cruel of me, not seeing to your needs these past few weeks. Now I’m going to make you feel so much better.”

Keeping one hand firmly in possession of hers, he moves his other one to tug on her ponytail just before he removes the hair-tie and loosens her blonde locks, treating them like silken gold, worshipful and ritualistic in his treatment. “You’re wearing my clothes,” he murmurs, finding the perky rounds of her breasts beneath the blue and white striped pajama top that is all she wears aside from her underwear and socks. “Why?”

“I want you all over me.” _In every way._

“Good. Come on, then. Let’s go.” He leads her by hand to the bedroom, where she automatically pulls herself up on the bed, just sitting there and waiting to learn his next play, happier than she’s been since the first time they reveled in their love.

Hap’s treating her with his best method, when his sternness is slightly offset by the small twist of an amused, affectionate smile sneaking across his face. But he does mean business. Taking four scarves down from the top shelf of the closet, he instructs her simply, “Lie back now.”

OA watches his serious look as he secures each of her wrists to the bars of the headboard, then carefully positions her head in the center of the pillows, far down enough on the bed that her ankles can be bound to the bottom rails with ease and no painful tugging. She’s not stretched; she’s exceptionally comfortable and more than pleased to be tied up. 

“How do you feel?” Hap asks, determined and severe. 

“Ready,” OA confesses naughtily, thoroughly intending to scandalize him.

“That was quite a statement.” He’s barely able to hold back from ravishing her, pushing himself to draw out the suspense because it turns them both on so deeply. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, kitten? You like putting me in control. You know it’s for your own benefit.”

“I do,” OA smiles, “I like it so much. I want to know what you’re going to do to me, Hap.”

“Very nice.” He smiles wickedly and licks down the length of her neck before running his fingers along the moist flesh. “So beautiful. To whom do you belong?”

“You, I’m yours.” She’s just not sure how much more of this teasing she can take before she explodes. Her ankles twitch impatiently and he stills her leg before tsking. 

“Be patient. If you’re mine, you should look that way, don’t you think?” Hap traces her lips until they part with her answer.

“Damn right.” OA knows she’s always enjoyed following his lead, letting him take her over, even back when she’d had to keep it a secret because it was wrong. But _this_? This is just as wonderfully right as she’d imagined, watching him unbutton her shirt and leave it open, exposing her breasts and stomach to his hungry view.

“I think I’m going to play a game with you.” His body hovers, so very close to sinking against her, his eyes locked on hers as she waits for him to elaborate. Hap’s rough, sultry voice laces every word with power as he continues, “I’m going to kiss you from head to toe, every inch, OA. And you’re going to keep your eyes closed the whole time.”

Her heart seems to stop and her eyes go large with fascination at such a delightful challenge. “That’s a big ask.” After all, it means she’ll have no idea where he’s going to kiss her next. Who could resist a peek or two? “What happens if curiosity gets the best of me?”

“I’ll bite you,” he explains matter-of-factly. Hap’s decree has the effect of making her fingers unbearably itchy to touch him, but her momentarily thoughtless pull against the scarves binding her wrists only makes him give her a small, reprimanding shake of his head.

“I think you’ll find those are going to hold quite snugly,” Hap assures OA. “So, shall we begin?”

OA knows her own impetuous nature when it comes to Hap, so that she suspects her body will soon be covered in enough bite marks to ensure it is most certainly recognizable as his property. 

She nods and smiles apprehensively, closing her eyes just as his first kiss lands on her thigh, slowly, so attentively, his lips trailing up and down, the soft coarseness of his beard showing her for the first time how it takes his kisses to a whole other level. “Hmm,” she muses, “That’s nice.”

“Enjoy the nice treatment while it lasts,” he says, kissing her forehead, then the inside of her elbow, her toes and knees, making it impossible to guess his next location. She squirms under the suspense and the tender onslaught. He tricks her by chastely pecking at her fingers right before he cups her breasts aggressively, the sudden change earning a gasp as her toes wriggle. 

“I bet you think you can get me to open my eyes,” OA smirks.

“I bet you think you can keep resisting the urge,” Hap answers smartly, squeezing her breasts again before he brushes his lips against her nipples and her hips rise up instinctively. But that’s allowed this time. OA ponders ways to use her freedom in the “hips thrusting” category to exact sweet revenge on Hap and the inspiration makes her giggle.

“Something funny all of a sudden, Kitten?” Hap inquires politely as OA waits for him to get into just the right position for her next move. Once he’s nestled between her thighs, now pressing his lips to her stomach, she lifts up and rubs her center against his hard-on, earning a strong groan of shocked pleasure.

“Oh, I see,” he notes more gruffly, “You’re twisting the rules.”

“Hey, you didn’t say anything about my hips,” she reminds him, deeply hopeful that he’ll get rougher now that she’s been bad. 

“Humph.” He follows his curt retort with a firm yank of her hair. “So much for my good girl. Now, don’t pout.” OA’s eyes snap open immediately when he sucks her nipple hard and he can’t hold back a grin. 

“That was _not_ a kiss,” OA complains petulantly.

“You never said anything about sucking,” he argues. “Shut your eyes before I skip the foreplay and fuck you into a week-long coma.”

A harsh shiver goes down her spine and she smiles, saying softly, “I’ve thought about a sex coma before. Sounds like a cozy way to spend a few days. _God!_ ” His teeth close around her nipple and she retaliates with another hip roll.

“Don’t tempt me,” he cautions. “Don’t fucking _fuck_ with me, OA.”

“But it’s so much fun.” Her eyes remain steadfastly closed, but there’s no way to keep her arms and legs from trembling and making sudden, chaotic movements as he kisses them some more, then returns to his trickery. One second, his lips are pressed to her clavicle, and the next, they’re burning against her throbbing, slick entrance, and he has the audacity to inquire, “Did we discuss french kissing specifically?”

“Hap, seriously, I’m gonna lose it, go easy on me…” OA tugs the bindings at her wrists again, the temptation to get her hands all over him making her almost want to just snap them. But he was right: he tied the knots tightly. She’s not going anywhere. OA moans and whimpers when he goes down on her, showing his usual care, a delicate yet greedy approach she’s missed with great fervor. 

“Be careful during this part,” he warns, still perturbed by her earlier mischief. This only eggs her on.

“You’re so good at that, Hap. I can’t ever make myself feel this way when I masturbate…”

She rests her hot cheek against the pillow and takes deep breaths because he’s delving his tongue further within now, but he waits just a few more strokes before murmuring, “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Is it working?” She squints down at him without getting caught. The sight of his head bobbing in and out makes her sigh, catching his suspicion. 

“You just don’t seem to want to behave,” he says, clearly determining that they haven’t set any laws regarding his fingers, since he takes the opportunity to slide two inside her with no further preamble.

“Holy shit!” OA nearly shouts, her head rising from the pillow with a swift impulse as she opens her eyes again, this time meeting his.

His lips are gleaming with her juices and he’s smiling triumphantly, still working his fingers inside her, curving them up further…God help her, she’s never wanted him more.

“Baby,” Hap clucks his tongue. “I told you to be careful about this part.” He bites both of her thighs, then climbs back up the bed to treat her upturned lips with the same attitude. OA licks his lips and reaches her head up in supplication until he kisses her again, just as his fingers speed up within her and she comes, feeding him her whimpers.

“There we go,” he soothes her, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead. “Feeling better?”

“So much better,” OA responds gratefully, “But what about you?”

“Are you offering yourself, love?” Hap rests the back of his hand against her throat and brings it all the way back down to her pussy, and she nods.

“Yes.”

Hap can’t take it anymore, looking at her tied and waiting for him, thighs wide open, so he rubs his cock against her for just a few moments before he slides in, both palms resting beside her head. “I love you so much,” he breathes against her forehead, and now they are making love, the mood having shifted until their sighs are needy, their kisses sweet and lingering. Her orgasm is long and shuddering, and Hap clutches her tightly to him as he cries her name again. But he’s not done.

Pulling out, he hurries to untie her feet before returning his lips to her almost-sore pussy, preparing her right before he strokes against her again, getting rock hard with the sensation. “Hap,” she gasps as he puts her legs over his shoulders and plunges back in, taking her fiercely. The scarves rub against her wrists with the friction of his movement, but the material is soft and doesn’t cut in despite the clever knots. He’s slamming into her so hard that the iron headboard smacks against the wall with a repeated clang, and there's only so much more of that which either of them can take before coming, sweat-soaked and spent.

Pressing his brow to OA’s, Hap pants, “Don’t ever be afraid to tell me your dreams again. Or any of your troubles. Give me everything, your joy, your pain, let me help you like you helped me. There…there has to be balance between us. I’ll be strong for you, I promise.” He kisses her wrists tenderly as he unties her, then slides her body down so that she can rest, laying the sage green quilt over her shoulders and nuzzling in close. 

*********************************************************************************

Ultimately, it’s a good thing OA confessed to Hap about the visions, since tonight’s version is so horrifyingly intense that there’s no way he could have slept through her reaction. As soon as she wakes, screaming and bleeding, he hugs her, strokes her hair, whispers that she’ll be okay. Then Hap hurries to the bathroom, returning with a washcloth as OA automatically tips her head up and takes it from him to stop the red flow gushing from her nose, a heavy one this time. Her head is pounding and she shuts her eyes as if to escape the pain, reassured by the scent and warm presence of Hap right beside her where he waits to provide any further comfort that’s possible. In this whole process, she hasn’t said a word, but now she murmurs with drowsy frustration, “Can we start tomorrow?”

Hap nods, wiping her tears and kissing her neck, “Yes.”

***********************************************************************************

The old excitement is back in Hap’s bright blue eyes as he sits her down at his desk and places a galvanic skin response meter on the wooden surface. “It goes on like this,” he says, eagerly fastening the velcro straps around two of her fingers as, despite her mix of nerves and ambition about tackling this endeavor, his typical enthusiasm about delving into the unknown charms her. 

“You’re just distractingly hot when you’re working,” OA tells him, and he gives her a coy glance as he adjusts the equipment.

“You’re just hotly distracting when I’m experimenting on you,” he replies, still focused meticulously on preparing to hypnotize her, sitting in the chair in front of her and somehow managing to eye-fuck her without actual eye contact. Just that momentary look in her direction with the quick cutaway back to his occupation slays her, especially when it’s accompanied by that small smile of Hap’s which is impossibly both shy and knowing. Promising, even.

“So, let’s get serious,” he urges, but despite her use of humor and the inevitable attraction between them to cut the tension, he senses her fear and rubs her shivering arms. “This is going to help. We’re going to get to the bottom of this. Just do as I say, alright?” OA nods, so he continues, “Close your eyes."

“This machine is going to emit a very small electric current, which is going to make you more suggestible, making it easier for you to recall emotions and experiences your brain would otherwise continue repressing. So what I want you to do now,” Hap explains, switching the device on as a strange tingle spreads from her fingers outward over her body, “Is relax, just think back to the scene you saw at the school. Why don’t we start with this, why are you there?”

OA sees the crowded cafeteria, looks down at herself and realizes she’s not in the cabin with Hap anymore, she’s _there_ in the bustling modern school, kids and teachers whizzing past with their trays and books, loud conversation filling the room. Her vision is slightly blurred, but she seems naturally drawn to a table where four students sit, heads bent in intense conversation. OA wants to go over and speak with them, but out of the corner of her eye she notices something else that makes her stop short. 

“ _You’re_ there,” she tells Hap, squinting at him as he looks back, clad for some odd reason in a white apron as if he works there at the school slinging salisbury steaks. “And you’re giving me this tense look, like ‘what are you waiting for? Why are you wasting time staring at me?’”

“That’s good, now keep going. If staring at me is wasting time, what _should_ you be doing?” 

“I think…I need to find the principal, warn them about the shooting, but first something is telling me that if I warn these four kids as well, get them ready, that will help.” OA takes a few steps in their direction, though it’s a tedious labor as her limbs feel somehow weighted, like gravity is fighting back against her supernatural intrusion into what seems to be the future. She doesn’t get far before the bullets start flying, but she’s been here so many times by now that she tries to battle her panic so she doesn’t leave too soon.

Swallowing hard and resisting the urge to scream and run, OA reminds herself that she has no real physical presence in this place, that through this vision she can find clues to help them deal with the real-life version of the event. But it’s hard. The crowd’s terror is thickly tangible, bodies slamming to the ground, crawling under tables weeping. The four kids she’d felt drawn to are doing something very strange now, rising up from their hiding positions and —-

“They have the movements, Hap.” She doesn’t believe her own voice, or what she’s witnessing. The colors this time are so much sharper, the images getting more familiar -- she knows where she is. “These kids, they’re back home in Crestwood and they have all five — there’s a woman there with them and she’s joining in, they’re somehow trying to use the movements to stop the shooting, and—” OA’s sharp disbelief explodes into a forced return to consciousness when she sees something new that she can’t begin to process.

Her eyes pop open, fingers scrambling across the desk to grab Hap’s hand as he stares at her in astonishment and ever-insatiable curiosity. “What, what is it, baby?” He rolls his chair close and cups her face in his hands as she holds onto his elbows for support. Oxygen tastes like blood and she almost wants to lean over and spit it onto the floor. She hasn’t completely returned to reality yet but soon his anchoring embrace guides her the rest of the way back.

Instead of pressing her for answers as he would have done in the past, he’s taught himself to wait, to respect her need to recover her senses first, reveal the truth in her own time. “I saw myself,” OA confides, resting her hand against his face, placing her head on his shoulder, her brain trying to block out the very image she must retain. “I saw myself standing on the other side of the glass, broken glass, and I’m shot.” Her touch lands over his galloping heartbeat and she doesn’t know if the next revelation offers hope or more trouble. 

“And Hap, for some reason I’m glad — glad I’ve been shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some info on how to do hypnosis from this aricle: http://www.hackcanada.com/ice3/wetware/gsr.html


End file.
